


Letters

by AmyNChan



Category: Skyrim
Genre: A lot of original characters, F/M, Fanfiction of a Fanfiction, I wrote this ages ago and did the slightest of touchups, none of which are mine actually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-14 18:57:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18482347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmyNChan/pseuds/AmyNChan
Summary: She wrote to him for a very, very long time.





	Letters

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Circle Unbroken](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/473503) by WolFang1011. 



> Just a heads up, there's a portion of it where it's implied that she sleeps with her S/O to get over some of the pain. It doesn't _feel_ consensual to me, so that's why the heads up is here. Otherwise, everything looks ship shape to me.

She was nine when she wrote her first letter to him.  Nine and not too happy about it, but she put a quill to parchment and worked earnestly on the words that came to mind.  She mainly complained about missing ribbons and how the food was awful and how she couldn’t wait for Grelod to keel over one day.  She wrote about how many fish there were in the lake now that he was gone and that he should come back to fix it by catching them all over again.  She wrote about Constance trying to get everyone extra pillows and about the foul she-devil taking them all away again.  She wrote about any little thing that bothered her that he would and would not possibly want to hear about.

She wrote using her neatest handwriting at the start, but it wasn’t her fault that her hand was shaking by the time she signed her name.  Frowning terribly, she could only feel a pang of loneliness and frustration in her heart.

“Constance?” asked the girl, turning to the assistant to the orphanage.  Constance, ever patient, turned towards her with that smile of hers.

“What is it?”

“When’s Kai coming back?”

The older girl frowned, her eyebrows pinched together in a sad sort of understanding.  “Reina, we talked about this…”

“Do you think if he reads this he’ll come back?” interrupted the young girl, waving a single sheet of paper in front of her elder.  “If he doesn’t, he’s even meaner.”

“Now don’t say that,” chided Constance, moving closer to the girl.  The child huddled over her newly crafted letter, barring anyone save herself from seeing it, but the elder made no move to read it.  Instead, the brunette woman chose to lower herself to eye level.  “However, if you do write to him, I’m sure he’d be happy to hear from you.”

“Are you sure?”

Constance could only smile at the young girl, pleased to have reassured her.  “I’m sure.”

* * *

She wasn’t sure when it became normal, but it eventually did.  She supposed it was one of the only things that kept her sane while she was in that hellhole.  News about Sibbi and his tricks; Grelod and her screeching; the secret meaning behind their once upon a time neighbor, Haelga.  She wrote it all down when she needed to vent.  She wrote it all down when something good happened.  She wrote it all down when she just wanted to talk to him and he wasn’t there.

Constance sent them out for her.  Well, the first few.  After a while, she stopped asking her to.  Some time after she realized Constance was paying the price of stamps out of her own pocket, a little after she had offered to pay for the stamps herself, and months after not ever receiving a letter in return.  Like a red ribbon, the chances of her seeing a return letter from her best friend looked slim.

She’d had a hiding spot in the orphanage for the letters she’d never sent out.  She’d had to find a new one when she finally left for the Guild, desperate to make a better life for herself.

She wrote about that too, though it was among the letters she never sent.

* * *

She supposed that consistently writing to him helped her keep an image of him in her mind.  Ten years old and comforting her on his way out.  Nine years old and threatening to throw her pillow in the lake.  Eight and a half years old and teaching bullies a lesson.  Eight years old and mortified in a town square.  Four and babbling like the crazy kid he was.

Though when she had seen him earlier in the week, every image of the child he had once been had gotten an update.  His boyish grin had toned down even if his yelps had remained the same.  Puberty hadn’t taken away his shrieks of surprise, at least.  But it had grown his hair, lengthened his spine, and given her a bigger target when she had begun to pelt him with tomatoes.

She had to admit that had felt great.  One does not simply disappear for seven years with no repercussions.

What also felt good was the fact that he had recognized her just as quickly as she had recognized him.  When she hadn’t gotten any letters back, she had been afraid that he’d forgotten her.  That he had moved forward with his life and completely left her behind.  Betrayal like that led to anger, and it was that anger that had gotten its swift revenge.

Said anger had spent itself quickly enough.  It turned out that throwing a basketful of tomatoes in front of their old home was therapeutic enough, as was the yelling.  A month had been spent reconnecting with her friend.  It had been a good time.  A time without letters.  A time of just talking.

* * *

She had almost burned them.  All of them.  The fireplace in the Guild was more than big enough for the job.  It could handle that many sheathes of paper, filled with eight years’ worth of attempted communication.  The sadness, the anger, the happiness, the joy, the turbulences of life.  Kai had disappeared a year previous without saying goodbye and all that she had of him were eight years’ worth of secret letters.

“Hey.”

She didn’t want to talk right now.  Normally she would; she could talk to her boyfriend about anything, but this was something of a sore spot for her.  A severe sore spot.  To be betrayed once by a child who couldn’t help his situation was one thing, to be betrayed by your best friend in the same manner, years later, was just infuriating.

And it hurt.  _Nocturnal_ , it hurt like hell.

He seemed to know what she was thinking.  He’d been getting really good at that lately.  He wrapped his arms around her and his hands snaked down to her own.  She noticed that he was careful not to touch the box.  The box of letters.

“You know…He might not be coming back this time.”

Reina grit her teeth.  She knew that.  He’d left once because he had been taken away.  He’d spent seven years away.  And then he had come back, gotten her hopes high and having her think that he wouldn’t leave this time, and now he was gone.  Just like last time.  If she were ever going to see him again, his past record said it wouldn’t be for another few years.

And she was tired.

He gently turned her around to face him.  She didn’t fight him.  He lifted her face to his.  She let him guide her and looked into his strong eyes.

She was sick of being in pain over this. She was mad.  She was sad.  She wanted to leave her pain behind her.  And she had a man right in front of her who hadn’t abandoned her yet.

She let him take the lead that night and the box fell to the ground.

* * *

The box spent four years hidden away in the house.  She supposed he had hidden it from her.  He had always tried to distract her from him.  But she’d caught bits and pieces over the years.  Heard from Bryn that he’d joined the Legion.  Kept up with the war.  Tried to note when and where heavy casualties were taken, hoping that he was not among the dead.

She couldn’t help it.  He had been her best friend.  She had tried to keep up somehow.

But then her own life had crashed around her ears.

The velvet voice that had once reassured her now haunted threats of death in her ears.  The hands that had once held her were now ghosts of a much more violent embrace.  The eyes that she had seen lead so strongly now accused her of murder.

It was a justified murder, but murder nonetheless.  And she had spent days, weeks, months afterwards roaming around the house, trying to find some hint or clue that she could have possibly missed.  And that was when she had found it.  The box he had managed to make disappear after their first night.  He had hidden it away in the secret passage.

Where it once would have been a comfort, it now sickened her that he had known her well enough to see that she preferred going in and out of the front door like a normal person.

Rereading the letters she’d once hidden felt like collecting a bit of who she had been before him.  It felt like going back to a simpler time.

And it brought back old feelings that she hadn’t yet dealt with.

Admittedly, the anger she felt at her childhood best friend was better than the despair she’d felt for however long she’d spent in the house.  She’d spent some of her days in somber detachment from her body, others openly weeping without ceasing and without one single emotion to fuel her tears, others still feeling nothing at all and too tired to bring herself to try and do anything.  Mercer had carved out her very soul the night of his betrayal, and she was ready to grab at anything to get her life back on track.

The letters that spoke of Sibbi’s childish ridicule reminded her just how much her best friend had done for her in the past.  The fact that the brutish boy had found himself at the bottom of a well for a mere comment told her just how much Mercer might have suffered at his hands for his treachery.  The thought brought her a small comfort.  Comfort in the idea of a friend who was long since gone.  But it was comfort nonetheless.

She spent a week rereading the letters.  A week rebuilding her memories of him.  It wasn’t enough to banish the pain of Mercer’s betrayal, but it was just enough spite to fuel her and get her going again.

And it was enough to face the Guild once more when they named her their Guildmaster.

* * *

She’d taken up writing letters to him again, though she still never sent them.  And there were things that she chose to keep from these letters this time.  Things she would never tell him if given the chance.  Not if she could help it in any way, at least.  She did, however, write some of her letters to tell him about the frustration he’d put her through.  It helped a little bit.

The months went by and it eventually occurred to her that being in charge of the Thieves’ Guild gave her a very generous access to both money and information.  She didn’t have to keep withholding her letters anymore.  She could discover where he was and send whatever she wanted at any moment.  She ruminated on this information for about a month in her spare time—whatever spare time a Guildmaster could have, at least.

But then came the perfect opportunity.  The High Queen’s Ball.  The perfect heist.  And all she needed was someone to marry for a short time.

The information she needed had come conveniently through her brother, who almost always seemed to be the most trustworthy source on where the elusive man had gone.  The plan had fallen into place very quickly in her mind after that.  Part of her had worried that sending a letter—an actual letter—to him would be difficult.  That actually sending the letter would somehow impede her ability to conjure the words she wanted to use.

No such thing happened.  In fact, the practice of writing to him for years on end only seemed to improve her speed in crafting the letter.  And her years of deliberating on his running away gave her the perfect plan to guide him back to Riften and back to her.

With the gears set in motion, she had only but to wait.

* * *

The Blue Palace heist had been a success, and, more importantly, they had all made it out alive.  Reina had made him promise to write to her.  The thought of writing letters to a man who might have died tore at her, especially after they had spent their time getting to know each other again.  Time she sincerely wanted to make worthwhile.  She hadn’t written a single letter until she had gotten that first piece of parchment in her hand.  Until she knew for a fact that he was alive.

Once she had that proof, however, she had felt a mixture of emotions.  Relief, of course, was one of the first in her mind.  Excitement was next, because he had never actually written to her before.  Not even when she had sent her letters to him.  Amusement, since his letter was so him that it made her roll her eyes.

And a feeling of settling.  In a good way, settling into a new friendship.  Settling into something that would last for a long while.  Settling into a new chapter of her relationship with him.

So she wasted no time returning his words, matching his banter, and sharing what she knew.  It felt good to write words that she knew would reach him.  She also prodded him for another letter.  If all she had to do was ask, then she would take full advantage of that fact.

* * *

The letters continued.  They grew in length.  They strengthened in content and helped to strengthen their bond.  When they were face-to-face with one another, the communication continued where it had left off.  When they were apart, they didn’t miss a beat.  Inside jokes were made, troubles were shared in scant detail, and Reina was happy.

She placed another of his letters in the box and returned it to her hiding place.  Perhaps one day she would share the letters of her youth with him.  Perhaps one day they’d slow down long enough to laugh about their past of touch and go.  About the years of missed opportunities and the years of independent growth.  About the years of distance and the much more recent years of closeness.  Perhaps, perhaps not.  Either way, she smiled as she pulled out a fresh piece of parchment and a quill.

_Dear Kai-pie,_

_Firstly, I believe the words were ‘you trout-faced bowdlerizer’.  If you have issue with his names for you, you might want to take it up with him.  Secondly…_

She smiled as she continued to write her letter, knowing that this time, and hopefully every time after, he would be able to read it on the other side.


End file.
